3

The festive lights of the Qasmi house flickered like dying stars against the humid night sky. Inside, the air was thick with the suffocating scent of jasmine and the unspoken terror of a father whose world was shrinking. Siraj Qasmi paced his study, the floorboards creaking under the weight of his anxiety. Every time his phone vibrated, he lunged for it, only to find another congratulatory message from a relative—reminders of a celebration that was rapidly turning into a funeral. "He isn’t picking up, Humayun," Siraj whispered, his voice cracking as he looked at the silent tailor standing by the door. "Three days of silence... is this how a groom behaves? Is this the 'good fortune' I promised my daughter?"

Humayun, clutching a stack of freshly pressed formal wear, kept his gaze fixed on the floor. He could feel the older man’s desperation, a mirror to the quiet ache in his own chest. "Maybe there’s a network issue in his city, Sahib," he offered, though the words tasted like ash. "Let’s not think the worst yet. I will go to the bus terminal myself; I’ll find out if he was seen." Siraj didn't seem to hear him, his eyes glazed with the mental image of a crowded hall and an empty stage. "If he doesn't show up, Humayun... I am a dead man in this neighborhood. My pride, my daughters' futures—all of it buried under his silence."

Upstairs, the reality was a distorted mirror of the chaos below. Narmeen sat before her vanity, the gold of her jewelry blinding under the vanity bulbs. She hummed a tune from a popular wedding song, meticulously flicking her eyeliner. When Emaan entered, her face pale and eyes rimmed with red, Narmeen didn't even turn around. "Stop shaking, Emaan! You’re going to ruin my wing," she snapped, leaning closer to the glass. Emaan gripped the back of a chair, her voice a trembling plea. "Baji, Papa is crying in the study. This isn't a joke anymore. Nihal Bhai’s phone is switched off and his family isn't answering the door."

Narmeen laughed, a sharp, brittle sound that echoed off the marble walls. "He’s probably at the airport buying me a surprise, you silly girl. He loves a grand entry. You always look for the gloom, don't you? Just like Mama did." Emaan flinched at the mention of their mother, the old wound reopening as it always did in this house. "How can you be so blind?" she cried out, her frustration finally boiling over. "The guests are starting to whisper! They’re asking why the groom’s family hasn't sent the bridal gifts yet!" Narmeen finally turned, her expression cold and arrogant. "Let them whisper. When I walk in with Nihal, their tongues will burn with jealousy. Now go get my dupatta and stop being a bad omen."

Later that evening, the shadow of failure followed Emaan to the gate where Humayun waited in the shadows. She had returned from the city, her shoulders slumped under the weight of a rejected future. "I failed, Humayun Bhai," she confessed, the tears finally spilling over. "My hands were shaking so much I couldn't even answer the basic questions. I looked like a fool." Humayun adjusted his cap, his heart breaking for the girl the world chose to ignore. "It’s okay, Emaan. The world is falling apart inside that house; how could you focus on a job? Don't carry the weight of the world on your own."

Emaan looked back at the glowing bungalow, her home and her prison. "But we need it now more than ever," she whispered. "If Nihal doesn't come... Papa will lose his mind and his money. All that provident fund, spent on a ghost." Humayun reached into his pocket, touching the small envelope of his life’s savings. "I have some money from the boutique work. I’ll give it to Siraj Sahib as a 'loan' from an anonymous friend. He doesn't have to know." Emaan looked at him, truly seeing him for the first time. "You're the only one who cares," she said softly, "and yet you're the one Narmeen Baji treats like a servant. Why do you stay?"

The night reached its breaking point at the airport. Narmeen stood by the arrival gate, her heavy bridal dupatta dragging through the dust of the terminal floor, a stark contrast to the travelers in jeans and t-shirts. "He’s coming. Look at the board, Humayun! The flight has landed!" she screamed over the roar of the engines outside. Humayun stood three paces behind her, a silent guardian to her madness. "Narmeen Baji, the last passenger has walked out. The gate is closing. The lights are being turned off."

"No! He’s hiding! Nihal! Stop playing! Come out right now!" she shrieked, her voice echoing through the empty terminal. Humayun stepped forward, his hand hovering near her shoulder but never daring to touch. "He’s not here. He was never on the manifest, Narmeen. We have to go home before the neighbors see you like this." Narmeen turned to him, her makeup smeared into dark tracks down her face, her eyes wide with a terrifying realization. "I won't leave. If I leave this airport without him, the wedding is dead. And I am not a girl whose wedding dies. I am Narmeen Qasmi. I am lucky. I am... *Khush Naseeb*."

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